Post by tristramblake on Feb 15, 2009 16:35:43 GMT 1
Tristram Blake was, quite frankly, terrified. The classroom itself seemed to cause him to hyperventilate, even though it was devoid of students - for the moment. He was covering a lesson for the charms teacher; he wasn’t sure why, he’d been shaking too badly to read the rest of the letter once he’d learnt what it was he was being asked to do. He Hadn’t been given a lesson plan, so he supposed it must have been a sudden absence, whatever it was, but that knowledge was little comfort when he had a class of terrifying students to teach.
He’d worked out what to teach them, at least, by going through the syllabus and working out where they should be at, which was a good start, he supposed. Now he just actually needed to get through the next hour without dieing. He’d got there pretty early, to psych himself up, although it didn’t seem to be working, as the longer he stood there, the more nervous he got.
And then there was Ryan. Trying to get the boy out of his head was a near impossibility these days, but he knew he’d never be able to teach the class if his mind was on the Slytherin boy. He’d considered extracting all his memories of Ryan and putting them in a pensieve, but the idea of messing with his memories terrified him almost as much as teaching this class did.
Shaking slightly, Tristram picked up the sheets of paper that contained his lesson plan and attempted to relax into the teachers chair, re-reading the lines of his own careful handwriting for what must have been the millionth time. He almost knew the thing off by heart, but that wouldn’t stop him from checking it every five minutes, making sure everything was going, well, according to plan. Not that it would, but with any luck he might still be alive by the end of it.
He’d worked out what to teach them, at least, by going through the syllabus and working out where they should be at, which was a good start, he supposed. Now he just actually needed to get through the next hour without dieing. He’d got there pretty early, to psych himself up, although it didn’t seem to be working, as the longer he stood there, the more nervous he got.
And then there was Ryan. Trying to get the boy out of his head was a near impossibility these days, but he knew he’d never be able to teach the class if his mind was on the Slytherin boy. He’d considered extracting all his memories of Ryan and putting them in a pensieve, but the idea of messing with his memories terrified him almost as much as teaching this class did.
Shaking slightly, Tristram picked up the sheets of paper that contained his lesson plan and attempted to relax into the teachers chair, re-reading the lines of his own careful handwriting for what must have been the millionth time. He almost knew the thing off by heart, but that wouldn’t stop him from checking it every five minutes, making sure everything was going, well, according to plan. Not that it would, but with any luck he might still be alive by the end of it.
